


A Game Of Cat and Mouse

by Farrow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:11:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farrow/pseuds/Farrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is being pursued by a relentless predator.</p><p> </p><p>Stiles closed his eyes and willed his clamouring heartbeat to shut the hell up for a few seconds, as he silently slid the door open a few inches and listened intently for any sound of his pursuer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Game Of Cat and Mouse

Stiles closed his eyes and willed his clamouring heartbeat to shut the hell up for a few seconds, as he silently slid the door open a few inches and listened intently for any sound of his pursuer. He wished he had time to put on the trousers he was clutching like a lifeline, but he couldn't afford to rest here for long - his near nakedness made him feel extremely vulnerable and, to compound that, he'd also lost his cell phone and he did not have Melissa's baseball bat. He coulda done with that right about now. What on earth had possessed him to come out to the old Hale House?

He had no hope of being rescued. He had already been captured four times and on each occasion he had been forcibly stripped of some clothing and then released and told to run. He was being toyed with - the thrill was in the chase and the maniacal laughter echoed in his ears as he had fled. Stiles knew that if he was caught again it would be all over. There would be no mercy shown.

Goosebumps shivered over his skin and his limbs trembled as he hesitated, unsure of his next move. One thing was certain, he couldn't stay here like a sitting duck. Of all the invaluable lessons that years of fighting against supposedly mythical monsters had taught him, the most important he had learned was that if someone was after your hide, don't stay in one place - it's much harder to destroy a moving target.

"Stilinski! You can run, but you can't hide."

Shit! That ominous voice was closer than Stiles had anticipated. He had procrastinated too long. He had no choice but to fight back - now, before it was too late!

He stealthily moved from the closet and moved swiftly down the corridor and ducked through a door, leaning back against it in panting relief. His whisky coloured eyes darted around the room, hoping to see some kind of weapon or anything...but apart from the old iron bedstead, there was nothing of use.

Suddenly he heard a noise from the other side of the door.

Footsteps! Slow. Steady. Sinister.

Stiles cast a look of sheer anguish at the room. He eyed the bed with trepidation, he knew it offered the best chance of concealment. It was the obvious hiding place. He moved.

The firm steps got closer and then stopped abruptly. From his vantage point, Stiles could see the door handle being slowly depressed. His breath caught, and although he was chilled, sweat began to bead across his brow. It seemed to take forever for the door to swing open with a slight squeak of its hinges, and a menacing shadow fell across the threshold. Stiles could sense that the room was being scrutinised carefully. To his horror, the relentless predator walked further into the room and stopped dead by the bed.

Stiles shrank back into the concealing darkness and made himself as small as possible, he hardly dared to breathe in case it alerted the heightened senses of the man hunting him, but the panicked thump in his chest seemed to reverberate around the room.

Without warning the bedsheets were ripped away and there was no mistaking the howl of thwarted rage that sounded in response. Stiles peeped out from behind the opened door and saw his opportunity, his adversary was rummaging around the bed, his back resolutely turned - this could be his one and only chance for attack!

Like a screaming banshee (He knew what that sounded like! What the fuck was his life?) Stiles launched himself at full speed across the room. The collision was full impact and they both fell to the bed in a tangle of bodies and mashed, twisted limbs.

"Ooof! What the fuck? STILES!"

"Got'cha! Score one for the human. Now it's your turn to lose some clothes." Stiles began to tug at Derek's henley.

"Of all the sneaky, underhand tricks."

"Sore loser. So much for those heightened senses." With a triumphant yell, Stiles succeeded in removing the concealing shirt.

"May I remind you," Derek snarled balefully, "that I am still half dressed and you have only your boxers left to lose."

"Ahah, but you have to run now - The hunter is now the hunted!"

Derek wriggled out from under Stiles and stood up.

"Bring it on." Derek briskly ran from the room as Stiles slowly counted to thirty.

"...28 Mississippi, 29 Mississippi, 30 Mississippi. Coming ready or not," he hollered.

"Promises, promises," shouted back a disembodied voice.

"Sourwolf, you are so going down." Stiles sniggered to himself, as he made his way from the spare bedroom to the living room. A flash of blue jeans streaking past the broken window had him sprinting outside.

"You cheater, Derek! No going outside and no wolf powers. You promised!"

"Sucker!" Came the faint reply.

The bang of the front door told Stiles that Derek had crept around the house and let himself in. He threw himself back the way he came.

*CRASH!*

"Stiles, what was that?"

*Moan*

"Stiles! Answer me?" Derek's tone was sharp, which meant he was worried. He dashed into the entrance hall and saw his lover's prone body lying at the bottom of the staircase.

"STILES!"

Running quickly over, Derek threw himself down to crouch by Stiles' side and cradled his beloved face.

"What the fuck have you done? You always take it too far."

"Derek, is that you?" Murmured Stiles in an agonised whisper, squinting at the face hovering anxiously above him.

Derek leaned closer and began to fumble for his cell phone, taking advantage of his lover's distraction, Stiles made a lightening grab for the nearest ankle and yanked Derek onto the floor. With a swift movement he rolled on top of the spluttering, indignant werewolf, straddling his body and making himself quite comfortably at home.

"You bastard! I thought you were hurt."

Stiles trailed an insulting finger along Derek's whiskered jaw. "Who's the sucker now?" he whispered. His long fingers moved to the buttons of Derek's jeans and began to deftly undo them. Not waiting to pull them off, he slipped his hand inside.

"Mmmm mmm...gone commando have we?"

Derek smacked Stiles ass - hard! "I thought I'd help you out."

"You thought having no underwear would get you off one minute sooner, you mean. Submit!"

"WHAT?"

"Say submit and I'll share the spoils of victory with you."

"No way!" replied Derek emphatically. "I'm the Alpha and you were naked first."

Stiles gave Derek's hard cock a warning squeeze. "I can be dressed first too. Submit!"

Derek weighed his options. "Submit," he whispered sullenly.

Stiles softly kissed his lover as a reward for his good behaviour and waggled his brows wickedly. " I think we should play strip hide and seek more often."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for Reading. English spellings. Not beta read. Derek is always the Alpha.


End file.
